Her Frog Prince

by Shirley Jump

  Brad dug into his pocket and tossed a quarter at them. Brian caught it in his right hand. "There's your solution," Brad said.

  "Flip a coin?" Joyce looked horrified.

  "It's a true fifty-fifty chance. And the best way to end a battle between two people who both want to be right."

  "We're not battling…exactly." Joyce said.

  "We're newlyweds," Brian added.

  "That explains everything," Brad said with a smile. "Try it. You don't really want to fight, do you?"

  Joyce looked at Brian. Brian looked at Joyce. Then he shrugged. "Why not? I'm a betting man." He jiggled the coin in his hand. "Call it, babycakes."

  She pursed her lips, let out a sigh. "Heads."

  Brian tossed the quarter into the air, caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand. Before revealing the coin's position, he paused. "Whatever this is, we abide by it. I don't want to fight with you anymore, honeybunny."

  "Oh, me either." Joyce nodded.

  Brian lifted his right palm. "You win."

  "No, we both win, sweetums." Joyce grasped his arm and gave her husband a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek.

  And just like that, the storm between the Phipps-Stovers had passed. "We'll donate the painting," Brian said. "Someone else will surely love it as much as I do."

  "And then we'll go shopping for something together. Something that's just us," Joyce said.

  "Oh, truffle lips, you're so perfect."

  Happiness had been restored. Within a few minutes, the Phipps-Stovers had completed the paperwork for their donation and had left the restaurant, snuggled once again in newlywed bliss. Brad and Parris wandered out of The Banyan Room and onto the veranda.

  "Now you owe me twice," Brad said, smiling at her. "Actually, three times." He handed her the bag.

  When he smiled, his eyes lit up and something traveled between them, like a connection of energy. How could that be? She'd known the man, what, forty minutes, and spent most of that time dripping wet and mad as hell at him.

  "What's this?" she asked.

  "Your glass slipper, Cinderella. You left it in my boat."

  She felt her face flush. For the briefest of seconds, she had felt like she was in a fairy tale. Who was she kidding? She was an heiress and he was a squid hunter. That was fairy-tale hell. "Thanks," she said. "Again."

  "I want more than a little gratitude."

  "What…money? Are you some mercenary rescuer who goes looking for damsels in distress?"

  He cocked his head, considering that for a minute. "If I could find a way to make it lucrative, I might. Make my time on the ocean a little more productive."

  "I'm not paying you for rescuing me." She raised her chin. "It's the deed of a good citizen. And you look like…"

  "Like what?"

  "Well, like you could be a good citizen." The last thing she wanted to be was indebted to him. That meant spending time with Brad Smith. A man like him—who drove her crazy and sent her thoughts careening into wild, impossible corners—wasn't what she needed right now.

  "If I cleaned up a bit. Put on a tie, you mean?"

  "Well…" She glanced at his T-shirt. Plain, unadorned, no beer-swilling logo or sea life on it. "Yeah."

  "Good."

  "Good?"

  "You said you're available for personal consultations. And I want one."

  Oh no. No way. She knew what he meant. It wasn't a "consultation" at all. He wanted some kind of sex thing, she was sure. No one hired her. She didn't have any experience. "Is this some weird way of asking me out on a date? Because—"

  "I want to hire you."

  "Hire me?" She blinked. "As in pay me money to help you with a project?"

  "Yeah, is that so unusual? I mean, that is what you do in your business, right?"

  "Oh yeah." She let out a hiccup of a laugh. "All the time." At least all the time in the past few weeks. Before that, the only thing she'd been good at was signing her name on charge-card receipts.

  "Good. Then you can help me."

  "Help you with what?"

  He patted his chest. "Become more of a tie guy."

  She didn't believe him for a second. Most men were happy with the way they looked and had a heart attack if a woman changed the brand of athletic socks they wore. There was no way this guy was for real. He wanted something else. Something definitely not involving "consulting."

  Besides, he didn't look like the kind of guy who could afford her fee, whatever it might be, since this was her first real customer, other than organizing the auction for Victoria Smith. "And how were you planning on paying me?"

  "I already paid in advance. With the rescue in the water and by helping that couple. I'm low on cash otherwise."

  Parris held the stack of auction papers close to her chest. There were a hundred details yet to take care of before the auction on Saturday, just four days away. With Jackie gone, she couldn't afford to lose her focus, not for a second. If there was anything Brad Smith would surely make her do, it was lose her focus. Even if he was sincere about hiring her—which she couldn't imagine he was since he didn't need a tie to pull up squids—she didn't have time for him. "I can't right now. I'm too busy with the auction."

  "Let me guess. The auction to benefit the Victoria Catherine Smith Memorial Aquarium, right?"

  "You've heard about it?"

  "Often." Brad scowled. Apparently he hadn't heard anything good. Was her PR campaign that bad? "I can see why that might be more…demanding."

  "Yes, it is. So, you understand why I can't take you on right now." There. She had a valid excuse not to get involved with him, whether she owed him a favor or not. She'd write him an IOU and hope he'd forget about it.

  He took a step forward, invading her space, forcing her to deal with him. "No, I don't. But if you say you can't, I intend to find a way around that."

  A soft breeze whispered through the veranda, lifting her hair. Resort guests came and went, drifting down to the beach or back up to their rooms for a nap.

  "There is no way around that, Mr. Smith. If I say I'm busy, I am. My apologies." She started flipping through the paperwork, hoping she looked too consumed to deal with him.

  He gave a short nod, then stepped back. "Fine."

  "Thank you again for your help. And, for my shoe." There. She sounded businesslike. She'd made it clear this transaction was over. She owed him nothing, especially not his weird idea of a date.

  "Don't mention it." His voice had gone cold. He pivoted on his heel and left the veranda.

  She glanced up from her papers and watched him walk away, tall and purposeful. A good-looking man beneath all of that…scruffy professor.

  She'd gotten what she wanted. So why did she feel a rush of disappointment? Parris shook her head, determined to ignore it and go back to the auction details.

  But the paperwork swam in front of her eyes and the lists became a jumbled mess, filled with images of Brad Smith.

  She blinked until her vision cleared. The last thing she needed was a squid researcher who thought he could channel Prince Charming.

  Chapter Three

  Well, that hadn't gone well. Brad left the resort, heading around the island to his little research building tucked on the other side. There were no people there, except for Jerry, who knew when to leave Brad alone. His life was as close to being a hermit as a man could get without having to live in a cave.

  It suited Brad just fine, particularly if being among the human race meant dealing with women like Parris. Thanks to Susan, he'd learned his lesson already about the risks of getting involved with uppity women and he had no desire to repeat it.

  Besides, Parris infuriated him. Drove him completely insane. Made him—

  Want to grab her and kiss her until these crazy feelings churning inside him stopped.

  And if anyone needed to be kissed until she got rid of her attitude, it was Parris Hammond.

  Brad decided to put her out of his mind but found it was easier said than done. He went to
bed that night and his dreams were filled with a teasing mermaid with blond hair and green eyes.

  When his phone rang at the crack of dawn the next morning, he reached for it blindly, realizing he'd had almost no sleep the night before. He mumbled a greeting into the receiver.

  "Hello, darling," his mother said.

  "Mother. What a surprise." Victoria Catherine Smith usually only called him when she had something to complain about or had to make an obligatory holiday greeting.

  "I wondered if…" Her voice trailed off, sounding uncertain. Impossible. His mother was never uncertain about anything. She had opinions and she voiced them. Especially about her son's "bad" career choices.

  "Wondered what?"

  "Oh, nothing." Her voice had resumed its usual briskness. He must have imagined the moment of vulnerability. "I'll be coming down from Boston soon, for the auction on Saturday night to benefit my aquarium. It's going to be a wonderful place when it's built. You should be a part of that, starting with the auction. You will be there, won't you?"

  "I'm busy with my research, Mother."

  She let out a gust. "The fish again?"

  "Squid. I research giant squid."

  "Eww. That's even worse. You know, you're a brilliant man. You could come back to Massachusetts, work in the family—"

  "Don't start that again, Mother."

  "Bradford, how can you be happy handling worms and dead fish all day?"

  "I'm in my element. You should see me." He almost laughed at the irony of the statement, considering he was wearing a Squid Are Just Misunderstood Octopuses T-shirt.

  "I've never seen what attracted you to that career."

  "That's part of the problem."

  "The aquarium could be such an opportunity for you—"

  "To sit at a desk all day?"

  "It would get you out of those awful boats."

  "I love those boats, Mother, and my job. I'm not looking for another one."

  "Well, I'll have an invitation waiting for you all the same. And please wear a suit. I know you have several from Brooks Brothers. I mailed them to you myself."

  The thought of a suit made him feel suffocated. The three pieces represented everything he'd run from when he'd left the Smith name—and its fortune— behind. "I'll try." He wasn't going to make a promise he couldn't keep.

  His thoughts drifted again to Parris Hammond, to his request that she help him become more of a tie guy. He needed a tux for the dinner and meeting with the grant committee. A tux he didn't have. And he needed something else—a feeling of comfort while wearing the ridiculous penguin suit. He'd spent too many years in shorts and T-shirts, avoiding everything corporate. On the water, yes, he was, as he'd said, in his element. Out of it, he was like a fish— flopping and gasping for air, not knowing what the hell to do with himself.

  He had the feeling Parris Hammond, despite how insane she made him feel, held the key to helping him ease his transition back into civilized society. Cro-Magnon man gets dressed up and comes to dinner.

  His mother let out a dissatisfied sigh. "I suppose I should let you get back to your octopuses."

  "Squid."

  "Whichever. They're both disgusting."

  "Then why are you sponsoring an aquarium?"

  "I don't intend to actually look at the things inside the tanks, Bradford. It's a legacy."

  Brad flopped against his pillows and bit back his first response. And his second. "I need to go, Mother. It's almost time for me to catch a whaling boat."

  "I'll see you in a few days, dear."

  He hung up, then rolled out of bed. He'd focus on squid and sperm whales. Preferably male ones only.

  Because the women in his life were far too much trouble.

  Merry closed her magic cell phone and let out a sigh. The reception had been fuzzy. The silly thing seemed to be on the fritz again, but it didn't matter. The brief review of yesterday's interactions between Brad and Parris was enough to tell her that her current matchmaking project wasn't getting off to a good start.

  She'd heard Brad mention just now that he was getting ready to go off on a whaling boat. That seemed like a nice, quiet location. Away from the resort and all the tensions of the auction. If she could find a way to get Parris out there, too, maybe Merry could still salvage—or goodness, create at least— something between the two of them.

  Merry hurried out of her private villa and up to the main resort building. Parris was already at the front desk, barking orders at the clerk who had made the mistake of getting a message wrong.

  Parris, clad once again in something designer, rubbed at her temples. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just had a donor call and change their item at the last minute, the brochures were a mess that took a whole day to straighten out and the company supplying the thank-you gifts just sent me two hundred 'It's a Boy' cardboard storks instead of the marble desk clocks I ordered. Nothing's going right with this auction and I'm taking it out on you."

  Parris being nice? Parris apologizing? Well, with that kind of miracle happening before her eyes, Merry had renewed hope she could make this couple work.

  "Mr. Kingman told me to give this to you," the clerk said. "It's your invitation to brunch on the Kingman yacht." He handed Parris a cream-colored envelope.

  Merry recognized the name. The Kingmans were wealthy philanthropists who gave to almost every cause that involved marine life. They vacationed often at the resort, enjoying the privacy of the beach and the abundance of aquatic animals in the area. Parris would have no trouble securing a donation from them. Which meant—

  If she missed the brunch, it wouldn't be too big of a hardship.

  Hmm. Seemed a little magic was in order to help the Brad and Parris match-up, especially since Parris still owed him a favor. Merry took a quick glance around. Her godmother Lissa would never approve of her using magic in such a public place. But Merry was getting desperate. She'd been cursed to walk as an old woman long enough. Just a few more couples and she could go back to her youthful life.

  Desperate times—and desperate wrinkles—called for desperate measures.

  Just as Parris withdrew the invitation to the brunch, Merry waved her index finger in a little loop. "Magic pen, write again," she whispered, "and send her on a trip with a scruffy gentleman."

  And so it was done. Merry slipped off into the shadows. She sure hoped Parris had her sea legs on today. In those shoes, she was going to need them.

  "This can't be right," Parris muttered. She pulled the invitation out of her Liz Claiborne purse and looked at it again. It still said Dock Four and named Tabitha's Curse as the boat she was supposed to board. The only boat she saw parked at Dock Four looked about as much like a luxury yacht as a vulture looked like a swan.

  "I'm going back to the resort," she said to herself. But as she took a step to turn back, a thick fog swirled up around her. The white mist blocked her vision, knocking her perception off.

  She hesitated on the dock. Was she moving toward the boat? Or away from it?

  "Right this way, miss," said a man's voice. "Your boat is leaving soon." She felt his guiding hand, though she couldn't see him through the heavy fog.

  She didn't want to miss the Kingman boat—or the Kingman donation opportunity—so she trusted the invisible stranger to guide her.

  A moment later, Parris was walking up the gangplank. She heard water slapping against the wooden sides, felt the rocking of the craft in the tiny wakes created within the bay by other boats, heard the shouts of the crew as they were ordered to "cast off" and "make way."

  But she still couldn't see a damned thing. What kind of fog was this?

  By touch, Parris managed to find a railing. Maybe if she stayed here until the boat was farther from the island, the fog would clear enough for her to make her way belowdecks to the Kingmans. She didn't want to chance it now, not in her Ralph Lauren sandals. They were a perfect match to the sleeveless black-and-white-diagonal-patterned dress she'd chosen, but they weren't exactly seaworthy.
>
  Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. And still, the fog remained, more like soup than clouds. Above her, she could see the sun, a fuzzy orange circle trying to break through. She caught a whiff of something very unsavory. Lord, must be the boat next to them or the water in the bay. She hoped they were away from it soon.

  "Parris? What are you doing here?"

  She turned toward the voice. The fog parted a little, like an opening in a curtain, allowing Parris to see she was nose-to-nose with Brad Smith. "What are you doing on the Kingmans' boat?"

  "The Kingmans?" Brad laughed. "They don't own this heap. They may like aquatic life, but this is a bit too rustic for them."

  "What are you talking about?" Then, as she said the words, the rest of the fog lifted, as if someone had waved a magic brush and whisked it all away.

  Oh God. Parris's jaw dropped open. Thick ropes coiled on the weather-beaten wooden decks. A huge cranelike thing sat in the middle of the bow. The pilothouse sported peeling white paint and windows peppered with salt spray.

  Worse than the ragged, dirty, jumbled appearance was the smell. Now that her eyes could connect with her location, her nose made the final link.

  Dead, rotted fish. The odor was more disgusting than anything she'd ever smelled in her life. A few feet away, a man in a yellow raincoat hosed off the deck, ostensibly trying to wash it away. It didn't seem to be working.

  Brad swept his arm in a semicircle, indicating their conveyance. "This is Tabitha's Curse, a whaling boat."

  Tabitha must have done something horrible to be cursed with this namesake.

  "Whaling boat?" The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew in intensity.

  "Yeah. I'm surprised to see you on it. I had no idea you loved sperm whales." He grinned.

  "I don't. I'm not even supposed to be here." She fished the invitation out of her purse. "It says, 'The Kingman Yacht for brunch.' See?" She thrust it at him and outlined the words with her finger.

  "I can read." Brad pushed the paper away, scowling. "I may look dumb, but I'm not."